


Towels

by SenkoWakimarin



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Bottom Roadhog | Mako Rutledge, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Roadrat Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 12:18:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8979379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenkoWakimarin/pseuds/SenkoWakimarin
Summary: On their way to Luna Park, the Junkers stay at a motel.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Thorinsmut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thorinsmut/gifts).



> Happy Holidays Thorinsmut!

Junkrat is well known as a stubborn, willful man. He has ever fought against control, and he hates being told what to do, or that he’s wrong, or that his schemes are in need of rethinking. He recognizes this trait about himself and, lacking the desire to change who he is, embraces it. It’s not so much that he goes out of his way to do the opposite of what is dictated, but more that he will always find his own ways, his own means, to get a job done. Self-sufficiency is important to him, and so is independence.

Roadhog appreciates this trait in his boss, however frustrating it might be at times. If he ever thinks of the younger man as childish, it’s because Rat has more energy and more tendency to be loud and underfoot than Hog himself ever will have again.

People have a tendency to look at them and think Roadhog is the one masterminding their plots, that Junkrat is the tag along. Some people even think Roadhog only wants to be there because of the money he’s getting, because he’s being paid. He’s cultivated an intimidating enough persona that most people can’t imagine him _wanting_ to be with Junkrat. That Junkrat’s maniacal enthusiasm and in the moment madness might be somehow some kind of deterrent for the larger man. 

Really, it’s laughable how wrong some people can be.

In most situations, the flat fact of the matter is that Junkrat is in charge, Junkrat is the leader, Junkrat _owns_ the moment. Roadhog leads only rarely, usually when his employer is incapacitated. He doesn’t follow along just because he’s being paid to, either; he follows Rat because the man is brilliant and knows exactly what he’s doing… most of the time.

Most of the time has to serve them both, because the goal of their little jaunt _is_ mayhem. Too much planning, too much _certainty_ just means more room for things to go wrong.

They work brilliantly together, and that’s a fact. It’s all Hog needs to feel that this is where he belongs; the feel of his hook catching home while the battlefield bangs and blooms around him in fiery chaos. The sounds of laughter, off kilter and a hint mad, chase eerily, beautifully around him as he trudges toward his next kill, hunting their opponents down as Rat skitters around him, launching frags and laying traps.

It shouldn’t be beautiful.

It is anyway.

Roadhog shouldn’t love it so damn much.

He does anyway.

There’s blood all over him when he starts for the motorcycle. Ash and soot clings to it as it dries, leaving him grimy and filthy as he swings his leg over the chopper’s body. Junkrat shrieks a laugh as he settles into the sidecar, their loot in tow. A glance at him proves Rat is as dirty as his body guard, but a glance is all Hog has time to give before he’s kicked the bike to life and they’re screaming away from the rubble of their latest score.

Driving consumes Hog’s attention well enough that he doesn’t notice Junkrat leaning out of the sidecar at first, focused on outrunning the cops that fall in to pursue them. He grunts in something like irritation when hands land on him, pawing awkwardly in a groping manner that’s almost painful as they tear down the road.

Brushing the hands away, he can’t help grinning under the mask. He’s as hungry for Rat as the smaller man is for him, but they need to get away first. And Jamie is hardly deterred by the swat of Roadhog’s hands; he cackles and slips his fingers along the place where the folded over edge of Hog’s coveralls and the curve of Hog’s belly meet. Looking for a way in, looking for a space to slip greedy fingers down in and under, to have his way even as they’re whipping around curves and fleeing hell-bent into the night.

The drive seems to take an age, even after Rat pulls back, grabs his frag launcher, and flings a few bombs back at their pursuers. In one great rattling conflagration, the trail of screaming police cars behind them breaks off, trapped behind the wreckage of several cars and chunks of concrete. He wants Rat, wants anything the younger man wants to give, and he knows Rat wants him too, but it’s more important to put a little distance between the crime scene and themselves.

Eventually though, sun crawling over the horizon to shine a new, murky day, he swings onto an off ramp, steering them into a motel lot. It’s seedy and there’s only one car in the lot, old enough to still be using rubber wheels; most likely the ride of the person stuck with the lonely duty of watching the desk for the night. He’s been here before and they know better than to call the cops, no matter how bloody he looks when he shows up.

Or at least, they always were smart enough not to do so before, when he served Junkertown as an enforcer. They’d take his money and ignore the rest, and there would be no guestbook to sign, no questions of where they’d come from or where they were going, nothing but an exchange of cash and a night in a room with running water. He won’t even need to shoot anyone if the clerk is smart.

Perfect.

When Rat grabs hold of him by the harness, yanking him down, he only grunts a little in absent pain as the straps of his mask pull at his hair, catching when the pyromaniac shoves his mask up and back, just enough to expose his lips and smash their mouths together in a furious kiss.

There had been a time when such a blatant advance might have irritated him, or at least made him cringe with the ferocity of the display, but now he only wraps his arms around the smaller man and crushes him close, kissing back passionately, tasting blood in Rat’s mouth that either signified a split lip or the other man having bitten his own tongue at some point.

It doesn’t matter, because he’s starving for this, starving for the singed hair and burnt ash smell of the smaller man, for the bone and muscle hardness of him pressed close.

The mask cocked up this way blocks his vision, so when Junkrat finally lets loose of him and pulls away he can only lick his lip and put the mask back in place, wanting more and forcing restraint upon himself. After all, there will be plenty of time soon.

The woman behind the counter barely looks up from her tablet when he enters, fishing a set of keys from the wall behind her with bored ease, sweeping up the wad of cash he drops on the counter and replacing it with the keys.

“One night?” she asks, glancing up from whatever she’s reading and quirking a brow at him. There’s no fear in her, certainly no look of urgency, like she might run to the phone to call the cops the second he leaves. It would be a shame to kill her, but he considers it out of hand, all too aware that it wouldn’t be any kind of difficult for him.

In the end, he decides against it. It’s the holiday season. Call him a softie, but he remembers that meaning something.

“Yeah,” he grunts, snatching up the keys in one huge hand, swallowing them against his palm. “Just the one.” If they were going to make it to Luna Park for Christmas, they couldn’t afford to stay more than the one.

The girl grins, something in the expression making it too much of a leer to be strictly friendly. It’s a very Junker expression, and he wonders if she’s from the town too. Anything’s possible, he supposes.

“Room three is yours. Leave the keys by noon.”

He utters a low noise of acknowledgment as he pushes back out of the office, finding Rat drawing in the dust of the old car’s rear windshield. There’s a little pig face, a lump with a tail he thinks is supposed to be a rat, and the letters ‘J’ and ‘F’.

“Signed artwork,” he rumbles, sliding the hand not holding the keys over Jamie’s shoulders. “I shouldn’t have paid so much.”

It takes a moment for Rat to get the joke, but Hog doesn’t mind letting the younger man process. It’s worth it for his giggling laughter, and for the way he turns and leans up to kiss the snout of Hog’s mask. As he’s pulling away, Hog can see that his lip is definitely split, but it doesn’t seem to bother the smaller man much at all. He’s quick to grab the bodyguard’s arm, pulling him toward the low building.

Unlocking the door, he’s surprised to find that the room isn’t totally disgusting. Call it a miracle, he supposes, smiling as Rat pushes past and whoops a happy yell, dumping their supplies on the bed and darting into the bathroom.

“DIBS ON THE SHOWER,” he yells in a delighted sing-song tone, giving Hog something to chuckle over as he turns to lock the door and start divesting himself of harness and mask, shedding his various pieces of armor and clothing in a neat pile on one side of the bed. He could remember a time when Jamie had refused to shower, seeing the use of water as disgustingly wasteful and completely unnecessary.

Now though, he had come to view many things differently, and he’d come to find the same fondness Hog held for a nice hot shower.  

When he was stripped down to his trousers, boots pried off and left by the rest of his belongings, he begins to dig out the supplies Rat would want for laying traps around the room to secure the space against any surprise visitors.

By the time he’d hauled the last few pre-packed explosives from the bag, the water in the bathroom shut off with a definitive thud. It wouldn’t be the first cold shower he’d taken, but Hog hopes there was warm water left, as quick as Jamie had been. It would be a nice indulgence, and he was still hopeful to have more than a few kisses with his boss.

Jamie emerges from the bathroom, rubbing a towel through his sparse, ratty hair and wearing nothing at all. A good look for him, if Hog was one to opine.

Saying nothing, Hog slips his bulk past Junkrat and into the bathroom. He is unsurprised to find all of Rat’s clothing piled on the back of the toilet, likely forgotten for the nonce. He thought of saying something, then decides against it, dropping his trousers and kicking them into a corner before turning on the shower.

It heats up pleasantly as he steps into the spray, though the temperature wavered between too hot and starting to chill as he scrubs himself with the tiny square of glycerin soap that had been left for his use. Detangling his hair with his fingers as best as he could, he washes that out as well, doing his best to clean every inch of himself. It wouldn’t have been the first time he and Rat fucked dirty, but he found himself grateful for a decent shower beforehand.

Stepping out of the shower, he grabs the remaining towel and rubs himself down. Drying off is far less important to him than the getting clean had been, considering that he knows they’ll both be sweating soon.

He grabs the things Rat had left behind as well as his own trousers, and leaves the bathroom naked with an armload of dirty clothes. Everything falls out of his hands when he sees Rat splayed out on the bed, grin on his face and hand stroking his cock.

Really, he should expect this by now.

Somehow he never does, and in a way he loves that. Loves that Junkrat can surprise him at all times, loves that the smaller man loves him back and always knows exactly when he’s in the mood for this.

“You wanted to, yeah?” Rat asks, hand pausing mid stroke, careful to be sure that his partner really is in the right mood. “The way y’ were kissin’ back…”

Hog clears his throat, nodding. He’s not shy, not really, but there’s something overwhelming about how eager Rat always is for him, something flattering, something almost too good. “Yeah, I wanna,” he says. “I really do.”

Rat grins, pleased with himself for reading the situation correctly. “C’mere then.”

Their kisses start out gentle as Roadhog settles on the bed, quickly devolving into an exchange that is anything but. Rat’s teeth are sharp and he does love to nip, moving from his bodyguard’s lips to his jawline to his neck, earning a low, happy sound as Hog leans back against the pillows and basks in the attention.

Climbing onto Roadhog’s belly, erection digging into the firm roundness as he leans in to mark the larger man’s neck and shoulders with bruising bitemarks, Jamie growls dirty little comments between bites, laying out every filthy thought that crosses his mind. Hog wishes he’d show instead of tell, and says as much, earning a giggle from his partner.

“Always a man ‘a action, Hoggy-me-heart,” he says, leaning in close enough to murmur the words right against Hog’s ear as he grabs something he’d stashed up among the pillows. “One a me favourite things about you, mate.”

When they kiss again, it’s heated and drawn out, Junkrat’s free hand slipping from Hog’s shoulder to toy with his nipple piercing, twisting and pulling at the ring. The metal clinks dully against the steel of Rat’s fingers, and Hog has to wonder when that sound came to be so erotic to him. It takes almost no effort on Rat’s part to get Hog hard, just a few laughing words and the feel of his fingers. Really, it’s a little dizzying, but Roadhog loves it, growling into the kiss and arching his back for more attention.

Finally, Rat pulls back, moving to kneel between Hog’s eagerly spread legs. With his peg leg removed, the smaller man moves in a smooth sort of hand-walk, his good knee and the stump of his right leg used as leverage as he slips down from Hog’s belly. He grins as he waves the little tube of personal lubricant at Hog, saying, “Nicked this special for you, Hoggy. Yer gonna love it.”

He doesn’t need the promise to know that he will. Doesn’t even need special lube; he loves Rat, loves feeling him root deep in him, loves being able to pleasure the younger man. But he says back, grinning, “You test it out sometime I wasn’t watching, Boss?”

With a little cackle, Rat twists the tube open and pours a fair bit out onto his hand, not bothering to answer.

There’s no room for speaking after that, at least not for Hog. The feel of Junkrat spreading him open and slicking him up is heady and indulgent, too good for words, and when Rat at last lines up and pushes inside, Hog’s mind blanks out, eyes rolling back and mouth gaping a little as he sighs in pleasure. Jamie laughs as he digs his flesh fingers into the fat of Hog’s side, nails biting into the skin as he fucks roughly into the larger man.

Warm metal insinuates against his cock, and for one shiversome moment, Hog thinks the smaller man means to stroke him off with his prosthetic hand. Before he can utter a word, the hands on him change places, so metal digits are digging bruises into his side while flesh ones curl around the thickness of his shaft, Rat muttering a giggling apology as he starts to stroke Hog in uneven time with his thrusts.

“Got mixed up,” he says, voice growling with effort as he rails the larger body down against the mattress, hand moving more and more out of sync with his hips as he keeps going. “Wouldn’t wanna, hehe, wanna give ya a pinch though, would I? Less ya like that.”

He squeezes then, all rough as he twists his hand, making Hog groan loudly, the large man’s breath coming in ragged pants now.

Redoubling his efforts, the smaller man praises his bodyguard as he gets more and more lost in the moment, Junkrat enjoying the view of Hog unraveling under his hands. “God yer pretty. You gonna come for me like a good boy?”

Slick fingers glide over the head of Hog’s cock, sweeping up precome and spreading it over his shaft as Rat focuses all his energy on getting the larger man off, until at last Hog gasps out a weak plea, for more or for less he’s not even sure, his hips grinding up into Rat’s hands; every nerve of his body seeming to sing, his guts tight with the coming release.

When he at last does come, Rat cackles, stroking him through the whole time as if trying to coax even more out of him, making him shudder in over-stimulated bliss. It doesn’t take much longer for the smaller man to catch up, his prosthetic hand clenching hard on Hog’s side as he pumps into the larger body.

 Collapsing against his partner’s belly, Rat closes his eyes and nuzzles against the tattooed flesh, sated and starting to nod. Hog, equally tired and still shivering slightly, raises a hand and pets at the other’s hair, enjoying the rough feel of it beneath his palm.

“Gonna need another shower,” Jamie finally breathes out, twisting his head to meet Hog’s eye, a wide grin spreading over his face. “Wanna climb in the tub with me?”

Huffing a little laugh, Roadhog let his head fall back, closing his eyes for a moment. They’d trash the bathroom trying to clean up together in that tiny shower, but then again, what else was new? Wasn’t like anyone was going to come after them for damages, and he was curious to see how much more energy Rat had in him.

Pushing the smaller man away as Rat started to cuddle up against him, grinding their hips together in absent passion, Roadhog rolled over and sat on the edge of the bed.

“I’ll go ask for more towels, then,” he said, waving a hand in dismissal before the younger man could latch back onto him. “We’re out.”


End file.
